There are levels of unpacking. On one level, we are 90% unpacked. As in, there are only a few boxes still sitting on our sun porch. Pesky things like office do-dads and tidbits that we threw into boxes right at the end when we were packing. I'm doing by best to NOT just shove those in the basement to be dealt with "later" because I know from experience that later might be a few years from now. So if you looked at the porch you'd think we were pretty close.
Except that we still have half, maybe a little more than half, of our worldly belongings in a storage unit in Virginia, which will shortly be dragged up here and, inevitably, onto the sun porch. This is part of the reason I'm trying to get things OFF of the sun porch now, so there is room for the next load when it comes.
Unpacked is also relative. Things are out of boxes. They are not in boxes and therefore they are technically unpacked, but they aren't really put away. We have lots of piles. Piles of clothes that need to be hung in closets. Piles of toys that need to be put onto shelves or into bins. Piles of art that needs to be hung.
Secretly, I kind of like unpacking. In general, when we move, I unpack. Not because Will is lazy or unwilling but because it's just how it happens. He goes to work, I stay home and unpack. And really it's the best system because I like to figure out where things go. I try things out and shift them around and try more things out. When Will comes home we move furniture and hang art because that's what he cares about, not where the plates are or which cupboard holds all the extra sheets. It's exhausting and tiring and sometimes dusty work, but I do sort of enjoy it. Although figuring out what goes where in this kitchen might just drive me insane. It's not that I don't like it, I do, but I've never had a kitchen with absolutely no cupboards under the counter. I have drawers drawers, drawers, aplenty, but no places to hide away the less pretty things that are better stacked on shelves. Ah well, in time. For now it's just another pile.
